


Accusations With Lost Time

by LivingTrashcan



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Bay Movies), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, JustForFun, justforshitsandgiggles, nothingserious, probablyneverfinishing, seriousplotthough, sexytime???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-27 22:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingTrashcan/pseuds/LivingTrashcan
Summary: Needing a break from work (and crime in general), you lose interest in things that normally held so much potential. You meet new people, grow fond of others, pay rent, etc. Nothing changes when meeting 4 turtles (that are ninjas.. and teenagers.. and mutants); if anything, these daily tasks seemed to become a lot more daunting.+Bayverse TMNT, but with a few characteristic twists of ROTMNT? I honestly just wrote this with no AU, so any version should be fine? The dynamic is the same??? I think???+I recently got back into the fandom. I have 3 books I haven't updated in at least 3 months so this might upset a few people. I am sorry that my interests change fast and that I have no self control.





	1. Prologue (Fear and More Fear)

**Author's Note:**

> +Bayverse TMNT, but with a few characteristic twists of ROTMNT? I honestly just wrote this with no AU, so any version should be fine? The dynamic is the same??? I think??? Honestly, I just really fancy Michelangelo having an artistic side. And I OoP-

When did it get so cold? The air bit your skin, making what felt like abrasions litter your face. You tucked your hands away under your arms and continued up the beaten sidewalk of New York. The thought of being smart enough to bring a jacket on this cold October night ran in circles displayed by the chattering of teeth. The moon was full and lit the streets with a cold glow, making the atmosphere even darker. The corner of the block, and ultimately your apartment complex, was a few yards ahead; chips of rocks crunched under the impact of your black, non-slip shoes. There were few street lights that cast an orange contrast, but didn't go further than a few feet into the various alleyways. With two more of these narrow passages until hitting the corner, you continued to peer around cautiously. You never had any problems when walking home at 3 in the morning like you’ve done millions of times before, but the caution and wariness would never go away. A hasty holler greeted your ears coming from your right and caused you to halt your movement in front of the entrance to the first alleyway.  _ Nope. _ You didn’t necessarily live in the best part of the city so it was quite common to hear voices and aggression throughout the night; the only difference being that you were usually  _ inside _ . Safe with locks and keys. Pushing through the shock, you speed-walk passed the numerous trash cans scattered while taking in your surroundings as accurately as possible. That didn’t seem to be good enough as you were forcefully pulled backwards.

“Help!” You were thrown harshly by your book bag that hung delicately over your left shoulder into a figure that reeked of sweat and- wait, was that iron? You didn’t focus on that part so much; not falling on your rear due to the impact was your priority. Turning, and ultimately slipping the bag strap off your shoulder and into your two awaiting hands, you faced your aggressor with pure fear. He continued to pull the bulk of your bag while shouting at you. “Call the police! They want to kill me!” 

Not wanting to be involved with this lunatic any longer, or his potential, awaiting doom, you screamed. “Get off of me! Let go!”. Your hands were turning bright red from the friction of the tugging. Your shoes helped you hold your ground as you analyzed the man pleading. He was wearing a black mask with a black bodysuit while holding nothing in his possession. You couldn’t see his eyes which was the most unsettling thing to his persona. The can of pepper spray rest forgotten on your front belt loop at your waist. You continued to chant the words and tug on your bag with a few tears leaking, “Get off! Get off! Get off!”. The thought of fighting back was ridiculous, considering you didn’t really know where to start while the thought of letting go was as equally damaging. Anxiety clouded your mind, not processing reasonable answers to your struggle. The tears poured as you functioned purely on adrenaline. Why won’t he just let go? You could hear the heavy breathing and the sound of your shoes scraping the pavement as you try and not lose your footing. The light from the post behind you didn’t make you feel so safe anymore. That being said, a barely audible thump accompanied the struggling sounds and with it was a shadow that overpowered your own. You let go of the bag upon this observation and the man went fumbling backwards from the pull. He must not have registered the additional company like you did because he looked around warily before his eyes landed on you. Not you necessarily for his gaze seemed to shift past you into a frenzy. Seeing this realization on his indescribable features, you decided that laptop was  _ not _ worth the potential end of your life by an aggressive gang. You don’t look back as you take off towards the street on your left, avoiding the figure that stood behind you altogether out of reach. You didn’t really have the time to register the green skin. The only thing about that situation you knew that you left behind was the thumping of your heart and grim toil finished by pleads. Turning the corner and reaching for your lanyard that rest around your neck, you fumble with the keys. There was a series of failed attempts, you finally grasping the right key in sweaty palms after 2 minutes. The commotion never seemed to fade behind you, honestly just getting louder with every shaky breath. You never felt as safe as you did behind the locked door you slammed; tears falling freely as you call 9-1-1.

It’s been 2 days since that incident; the one that made your heart heavy with anguish. The cops found no trace of the suspect or the grey shoulder bag, only a few specs of blood that could have belonged to anyone. It was almost brushed off as wine, but on your behalf of questioning the ethics, it was relayed as useful. You also refused to walk home from work after night shifts and settled on waiting for the bus an hour later as your transportation. It being only a 15 minute walk with an hour and a half bus ride killed you, but it was worth not putting yourself into even more dangerous scenarios. Don’t even get started on the mental state. You were crushed. Your brand-new laptop for school bought with financial aid and hard work was stolen and never to be found. Hey, that doesn’t mean it won’t turn up though; that was proven with reluctance and hyperventilation. 

“Yea mom, I’m fine. Just a little shook. It’s okay though.” You pull your phone away from your ear as your mom on the other end shouted about how ridiculous it was to brush the crime off. You scrunch up your face and after waiting for an opportunity to speak, you say your goodbyes and hang up. You didn’t want to deal with arguing, the little energy you had should be put to something more beneficial; sleeping the woe away. You fall further into your loveseat couch after tossing the phone on the other cushion with a huff. Grabbing the mug sitting on the marble coffee table in front of you, you take a sip. Fresh coffee was your drug. You loved that shit; it always seemed to calm you down. The fuzzy, grey blanket rested softly on your shoulders, half shrugged off due to the force of leaning forward for the drink. The TV that hung on the wall was black with specs of dust attached to the screen. You haven’t watched TV in forever, it just didn’t interest you anymore. You let out a soft chuckle which turned midway into a sob. Suppressing the urge to cry again, you begin to wonder about the logistics of things. You can have a pity party later, just not right now. You weren’t all too keen on letting emotions drag, but this was a setup. If that robber, murder, whatever he was wanted help, then why did he try to desperately take the bag? Why was he trying his hardest to ditch you and keep your belongings? What was that figure from before that towered over you and brought you to your senses? What ever happened to him? Why was there blood-

Shaking your head, you grab the remote and press multiple buttons, eventually settling for a kid’s cartoon.

“Mikey, I swear t’a God.” Said turtle sits smug with his legs dangling over the side of the roof. The whole city was lit up with lights, some holding a more bluish tint than others. He leans back with his hands propping him up and holding him steady. A scoff brings him back to his brother. “You’re just mad you messed up.” Michelangelo barely had time to react as he jumped to his feet and moved, shifting into a defensive stance. Raphael let out a low growl in response, his figure turning hostile and closing in. 

“What’d’ya say, brat?!?” The red on his mask seemed to add to the menacing stare.

“Uh, nothing! I’mma go return it now!” Mikey scurries off to the left and picks up your grey satchel with ease, flinging it ever-so-soft over his shoulder. After having it secured, he looks over the edge and down at the ledges of each window, deciding on how to approach you. Leonardo instructed to leave it at the front gate and ring the bell, but where’s the fun, the  _ risk _ , in that? He had a different plan, one that involved maybe getting your number? Who knows with the charisma of Mikey.

He eases his body down on the side of the building, using the cracks and misplaced bricks to secure his footing. “Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t wan’ta hav’ta explain how you got hurt.” Raphael retorts with mock concern and hands on his hips, peering down at the turtle holding onto the ledge of the roof with a mischievous grin. 

“Me? Would never even think! Out of all people-”

“Just shud’up.”


	2. Tap, Tap, Tap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your bag is returned, but in an elaborate way to try (and successfully) get your number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap (1) -  
He eases his body down on the side of the building, using the cracks and misplaced bricks to secure his footing. “Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t wan’ta hav’ta explain how you got hurt.” Raphael retorts with mock concern and hands on his hips, peering down at the turtle holding onto the ledge of the roof with a mischievous grin. 
> 
> “Me? Would never even think! Out of all people-”
> 
> “Just shud’up.”

Sitting up with a start, you groggily rub your eyes and let your new, clean gaze rein over the powerful colors displayed on the TV. You turn your head to either side and realize you still rest peacefully on your couch with the low background noise of the show droning out your deep breaths. The mug that sits on the table didn’t have steam flowing over the top, signalling that it must’ve been cold; definitely long forgotten. What time was it and what woke you up? You were dreaming about a princess with a talking cat. It was lovely. The girl had long, flowing red hair accompanied by a black and white tuxedo cat. They were on their way to deny the king with built up courage about the- 

Another soft knock made you lurch upright again, catching yourself from falling back into the peace of far-away kingdoms. Barely registering the disruption, you look around for the remote. Finding it inbetween the cushion, you shut the screen off and submerge yourself in the soft glow from the lamp sitting in the corner behind the fake fern given to you by your mom as a house-warming gift last year. You throw your arms above your head with a stretch, a yawn passing your lips and weird, contorted movement.  _ Tap. Tap. Tap _ .

Okay, now what was that? You sit up fully and conceal the urge to yawn again with new curiosity that slowly led to a paranoid panic. 

_ Tap. Tap. _

It was coming from your left. Your eyes were wide with alert and you scramble to your feet. One was asleep, but that didn’t matter. You stop and listen again, your whole body turned towards the closed blinds a few feet away.

_ Tap _ .

You suppress the automatic response to overreact and cross the space separating the window and yourself. Letting out another sigh, you try and calm your nerves. You were just being paranoid. You lived on the 4th floor for crying out loud with no possible way of an animal, let alone a  _ person _ , reaching you. There was Mrs. Davidson upstairs, an older lady who swore she saw a human-sized racoon using her overgrown planter resting on the windowsill as leverage to jump across the street. Everyone thought she was crazy and you never really paid it much attention. She was old; there were a lot of old people in the complex (hence another reason why rent was cheap). Giving it more thought and more logic, you managed to let out a low chuckle and grab the string, opening the plastic with more confidence than before. 

Your eyes held a torn expression as the grey shoulder bag replaced the usual specs of city lights and billboards. The bag dangled at eye view; the source of how was cut off by the top of the window. You squinted through the glass and verified it was your bag due to the ununified writing of “(Y/n)” scrawled on paper attached to the zipper. You had no words and your throat felt dry. The light from the lamp in the corner was the only source you had of identifying the object. You could have sworn the bag was swung to sway side to side under your investigation. You were still dreaming; that was really the only reasonable answer. You were high up, there was no ladder, and you were exhausted. You really tried to find what was holding the bag up, you really did, but the only way you were going to get an answer (and conclusively your bag back) was to open the window and pull. Hard. You didn’t give enough time to think about the pros and cons; just deciding on going through with the idea high off adrenaline, the only way you were going to actually address the situation in a timely manner. 

You unlock the window at the base and push up only a little while eyeing the bag scarcely. You could have burned a hole through it due to your focused strain. With the window slightly ajar, you wrapped your fingers between the crack and pushed all the way up, breathing uneasy. Upon hearing the slide of the glass pane, the bag stilled abruptly, somehow moving closer to your face. You didn’t think. You weren’t thinking. You just did it.

With an iron grip, you clutch the bag for dear life and push your body backwards (the wall planting your feet steady). You earned a light, “Eep!” in response and a tumble of weight cluttered to the floor. Your eyes shut closed as the bag was firmly held against your chest from the force with the unknown source letting go only mere seconds after you fell on your ass.  _ Ouch _ .   
“Yikes dude.” Hearing a voice caused you to choke on air with a hitched breath. You didn’t want to open your eyes; you refused to address another potential attacker. Instead, you settle on glueing your teary eyes shut and scooting back until you hit the leg of the corner table. The corner table! Your hand shoots up, blindly reaching to grab your mace that you threw in the grey, clay holder with your keys and you spray. You didn’t know if the figure was in your line of attack until you hear a high-pitched yell. You don’t stop spraying before you’re sure you went through half of the can all while ignoring the loud, “Mercy! Mercy! I give! I give! Gah!”.

You clutch the bag even tighter and keep your mace open in your hand. The cap sits under the couch where it rolled due to your embracive action. You didn’t process the groaning of pain until you hesitantly opened your eyes. The lamp and plant clattered to the ground during your scuffle, causing the light to become patchy and distorted. It still was enough to observe the person, no,  _ thing _ sitting on your living room floor. All you registered in thought was, “Not normal. Not normal. Not-”

“Did’ya really have to spray that much? It hurts so bad!” The green glob in front of you was rubbing fiercely at his eyelids, his legs propped as he (or his shell?) leaned against the wall you kicked from. His hisses and grumbles didn’t phase you as you stared with wide, (e/c) eyes. The bag fell from your arms with a soft thump on the carpet, causing the green.. thing to peer at you with red, puffy eyes. You didn’t scream, you couldn’t. All that you could choke out were struggled vowels. 

“I- You- Eh-.” This was not what was supposed to happen. Mikey, now becoming aware of the discovery, was quick to jut out excuses.

“Okay, I know this looks bad.” His arms extend in defense as he starts to slowly rise, “I mean this is bad, but,” You attempt to curl in on yourself as he steps closer, crouching with his eyes still burning. He almost loses his footing because of the interrupted combative rubbing. “Oh my God. Do you have some water? This  _ hurts _ .” 

His brief talking gave you the time you needed to regain your senses. Upon observation, he was green. Not like a normal green, but a lime green with a lot of scars. It was easy to notice because of the lighter lines. He had three fingers. Two with a thumb (also green). The orange bandana resting over his throbbing eyes almost concealed the baby blue iris’ that held the expression of what seemed to be concern. The shell really brought the whole look together though. It was a motherfucking talking turtle. The thing that resembled a person you happened to spray with mace. Oops, what is this? A dream fueled by heroin? Looking at him though didn’t calm you down; if anything, the observations made you all the more scared (and confused). He stops rubbing again and looks up towards your face with hesitancy, awaiting your answer. Oh, right. The water. You don’t even realize your arm moving to point over your shoulder through the doorway to the kitchen. “Thanks.”

The turtle stands and goes where directed while giving you distance. That was a nice courtesy because if he got any closer, you might’ve fainted. The tingling in your lower back makes you lean forward, a hand flying to your rear to massage and hopefully relieve the tenderness. 

You recognize the faucet turning on and a few splashes. You needed an explanation; you were starting to get another headache. With your turn to stand, you lean onto the couch for support and pick up the bag dropped to throw on the cushion. You still grasped the mace in your hand ready for another use, but the sound of mumbling coming from around the corner caused your body to riddle with guilt. You felt terrible. He returned your bag (with the laptop weighing it down). Just because he looks weird does not give you a right to judge. You internally scream, “Yes it fucking does.”. The water was still trickling down the drain when you leaned around the doorframe in silence, studying the figure hunched over the counter. The redness and swelling seemed to go down some, just from the lack of blistering on his exposed skin. Was it skin? Honestly, it looked leathery like a turtle. Were they really tiny scales? Or was the concept bigger than that?

“Ya’know, for a girl, I was not prepared for that.” He shut off the water and reached blindly for a cloth, successfully grabbing the one resting on his left. “I mean, I thought you would have fainted or something. Screaming, “Help! Help! A mutant’s in my home! He’s gonna kill me!”.” His impression of a scared girl, after he finished wiping his mask that was still on, earned a weird look from you. You would have laughed under any other circumstances, emphasis on  _ any _ , while he waved the damp towel around. “April did that. Screamed anyway.” 

Turning to face you and leaning his shell against the counter with his hands propped behind him, you noticed something. Something in his squinted eyes flashed sadness, only for it to be replaced with a big smile a mili-second later. You wouldn’t have noticed if not for the inflammation of his lids drawing un(wanted) attention. “My names Mikey; short for Michalangelo!” His hand was thrown towards you in a careless fashion after throwing the towel in the sink and his smile seemed to get bigger than before. Your eyes fell from his face to his webbed hand then back up in shock. Do you shake it? Was this a normal introduction? Was it a trick? He was still a few feet away; nowhere near close enough to actually make contact. Mikey must have felt the air grow tense because after a few seconds, his hand slowly fell back to his side. His eyes held the same flash of sadness as before while his smile flattered only a smidge. You cringed.

“(Y/n).” A pregnant pause.

“(Y/n).. That’s a dope name!” Looking back up towards Mikey, you realize he towers a good foot over you. When did you not notice that? His compliment complete with his nerve-wracking height earned a nice smile from you, easing the tension only for a bit. It turned awkward again from not adding anything to the conversation after that. You looked unnervely to the side, not making eye contact and leaning on the doorframe for balance. He must have noticed your switch in position because he straightened his posture and took a step closer. He seemed scared. Who wouldn’t be in his situation? He was a talking, mutated being with green skin and little to no social skills. Michalangelo tried to play it off as much as he could with April, but  _ that  _ was  _ April _ . Not a potential interest (of anything really). In all honesty, he was pleasantly surprised by your demeanor, even if it was a little hard to read. The way you slugged around and the mess your hair was, it would be reasonable to assume you were out cold so that may have had a play. Either way, it was nice to get some form of interaction with someone  _ other _ than his 4 brothers and April, especially a female. ‘Don’t mess this up Mikey.’.

“Well, (Y/n). As much as I would love to get your number, I really should get back to patrolling. A lot of things to see, crime to stop, you know the drill!” He pushed himself back upright and made his way past you under the doorframe, all while holding his head up high (besides to duck when leaving the room). The energy of uneasiness seemed to be replaced with one of a huge ego in the span of introduction. You moved out of his way and pressed your back to the wall, watching him continue to the open window. Wait, was he going to leave through that?

Giving you a soft nod, you watched him ease his body out without knocking anything around him. He held onto the windowsill and propped his torso up while looking back at you, about to say something until you cut him off.

"Thank you!" You shout abruptly, your arms wrapped protectively around your chest while the mace that rested in your hand was disregarded. The turtle's eyes widen (as much as they could without hurting) at your sudden outburst of appreciation; something he was not expecting from your worried state. Registering what you said with a smirk, he winks.

"No problem babe!" He propels his body off the ledge in a backflipping motion with no warning. Your breath hitches and you run to the window, expecting to hear a loud thump or equivalent from his body hitting the pavement. What you heard instead was a small, "Awe, you do care!" from above. Twisting yourself and looking up, your upper body sticking out the window with your hands keeping you steady, you see Michelangelo leaning over the side of the roof 2 stories higher than your level. He gives a curt wave with a mile-wide grin and vanishes, leaving you to stare openly at the night of New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, this is never getting finished okay; don't get too invested


End file.
